


Coldhearted, Hotheaded

by Anonymous



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bisexuality, Bondage, F/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M, creative use of chains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 23:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12264381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Amelie would never have done any of this... but Widowmaker is pulling the strings now.





	Coldhearted, Hotheaded

Amelie would never have agreed to such an operation. Amelie would never have been a part of any operation at all, stupid girl. What did she ever do with her life? Widowmaker thinks of her sometimes, but always with disdain. Amelie was still there in her somewhere. She could feel her like a memory, whenever someone spoke Gerard's name. Like something sharp under the skin.

 

Widowmaker did not think of Gerard now, and so the stupid girl inside her who sometimes felt inconvenient things made no protest to the notion of seducing one or more of the Aussie wild cards to the team. Seduction would be easy. And the spider, she would not feel a thing.

 

Of course, her team would be... disappointed, if she went on a recruitment mission and removed the heads of the men she was meant to be recruiting, but the thought makes her smile anyway. And anyway, none of them was willing to dirty their hands, so to speak, though it was not Widowmaker's idea to bring on more unpredictable elements. Talon wanted to mold and use them, but if Talon was not going to remake them from whole cloth as they had done with her, she doubted they would be fit.

 

Finding them was not hard. Approaching them as a friend and not a foe is harder, but she manages to gain access to their current hideout with the mention of a job offer. Rutledge is firm against it, but willing to entertain her anyway. It's a dilapidated motel. The kind of place she cannot imagine Amelie Lacroix setting foot, and that fortifies her. She is willing to go where that poor, silly girl would never dare tread. She is willing to do whatever it takes to further Talon's aims, and these men might not be ideal teammates, when a plan is desired, but they could certainly cause chaos. Perhaps that was what Talon truly wanted. To have them, to arm them with better weapons, and to turn them loose somewhere? To distract those so-called heroes from the team's real goals, that could certainly work...

 

"There are perks, of course." She purrs. She does not like that she cannot read Rutledge. Even here, he keeps that mask on. But when she sits on the bed and slowly crosses her legs, Fawkes' eyes follow them with a nervous, edgy interest. "To being a team player, I mean. And the... comforts that Talon can provide. Something a little nicer than squatting in a hovel, always on the run?"

 

"We have our own perks." Rutledge grunts.

 

"Do you?" She lets a hand skim past her breast, before folding neatly in her lap, her gaze resting coolly on him. "You sound so... firm in your position. Can I not sway you?"

 

He snorts. It rankles-- no man has ever snorted at the idea of having her interest, not when she was Amelie, and not now. She has no desire to bed either man, but she cannot even summon enough revulsion to walk away now, when she has been tested. When it has been suggested she might be found lacking! She has not felt desire or revulsion, since her rebirth. Her renaissance. She doubts she could, she has certainly not felt anything else, except the pleasure of the hunt, and the kill. But this is another kind of hunt. Not a kill, but a win. She still aims to win.

 

She turns to Fawkes. "And you? Could I sway you? If we were teammates... we could play very nicely together, do you not think?"

 

He looks back to Rutledge. The two conference in low whispers, but she can hear the pleading tone. How often do men like these get to so much as look upon a woman of her caliber? Touch one? How could he refuse? Rutledge is a tough nut to crack... perhaps not attracted to women at all, which is her only thought, for how he could refuse the idea. But Fawkes, his cracks are showing.

 

Finally, Rutledge raises his head from their little huddle with a grunt.

 

"Show us how nicely, and we'll meet with whoever you want."

 

"Suppose I give you what you want and you decide not to show?"

 

"You know we were here. Sure you'd find a way to pay us back for double-crossing you." Rutledge's hand rests possessively at the back of Fawkes' neck. "But he wants to know how nice you could be."

 

"If he wants a taste for free, then we play by my rules." She rises to her feet, unhooking her grappling gun, unreeling it. "Strip down. Lie on the bed, if you please, and do try your best to be a good boy, if you want to find yourself in my web."

 

Among orb weaver spiders, it is the male which imprisons the female. He does so in order to mate without losing his life. But to be tied up holds no interest for her. The black widow spider would not deign to play by an orb weaver's rules.

 

Rutledge harrumphs over this, taking his own big chain. He digs the hook into the headboard, and while she binds Fawkes' legs down to the bed, Rudledge secures his upper half with a practiced hand.

 

"Like I said. Got our own perks." He says, catching her watching.

 

"Indeed you have." She smirks. Fawkes is already standing at attention, chained down as he is.

 

She feels... something. Not about Fawkes or about Rutledge, there is barely any satisfaction in having won, but there is some satisfaction in seeing a man bound and helpless before her. She could easily kill him, if Talon had not commanded otherwise.

 

She unzips herself, wiggles the tight-fitting jumpsuit down just enough so that her breasts are freed and her sex available. Fawkes can barely writhe in anticipation, but his eyes are glued to her. She still feels no revulsion, and her excitement is impersonal, cold as ever. She just lets him look a long moment. Rutledge's breathing is audible, heavy, but he is turned away from her. He is watching Fawkes. It makes him less of a threat, but she is still prepared to hit him with an elephant tranquilizer if needs be. Talon wanting them alive removed some options from the table, but she is ready nonetheless.

 

She licks two fingers, messy, sloppy. Amelie would hate this. Amelie would never have been so wanton with any man. There is a perverse pleasure in believing this, too. In sliding those wet fingers over the lips of her pussy, parting them to let him see. For the first time she wonders at the color. Blue all the way in, lavender?

 

She straddles him, and lowers herself, but not enough. He whines with all the desperation of a man facing death. Rutledge's massive hand lands on his brow, those big fingers grab at his wild hair and keep him from changing his view, as if he could lean much one way or the other with the chains holding him down. Her hand wraps around his cock, squeezing tight at the base, using him to tease at herself.

 

She feels something, toying with him like this. It isn't truly arousal, or the thrill of the kill, but it's close. She still has power over him. It's not quite life or death, only le petit mort. It's enough to make this worth her while, to have him helpless and to let him suffer just a little in her web. He cannot touch her, he can only look, he can only hope for her mercy.

 

It's not unpleasant, to sink down onto him, when she is sufficiently physically stimulated. Her heartbeat doesn't speed from it, or not much, but it feels...

 

Good.

 

This body was a temple once, honed and punished and pushed to perfection by a stupid little girl with no idea of the perfect machine she would become. This body was pristine. Lusted after, but never touched by unclean hands. Never fucked in a cheap motel room by a man who smelled like gasoline. Amelie would be shocked. Horrified. Perhaps this act would drive off the last lingering echo of her. Perhaps she would not bear to inhabit a body which could be used so readily, by such a distasteful person, and then she would leave the Widowmaker alone to her new life!

 

She rides him harder, grasping her breasts, feeling this muted pleasure for the first time since that rebirth. Muted, but real. Once she has gotten into the rhythm of it, it is real...

 

There is a loud zip, and she watches as Rutledge's cock unfurls, to thwap softly against Fawkes' cheek. It's monstrous, long and thick and veiny, and she's a little relieved by his disinterest in her, she can't imagine the preparation it would take to get even half of that into her. He taps the leaking head against Fawkes' face a few times, before roughly turning his head, and Fawkes' mouth falls open. Rutledge fucks his face roughly, grunting the whole time, and she rides him for all he's worth. She circles her hips so that she can grind against him.

 

It isn't enough to get off, before he's already softening and slipping free of her, but Rutledge is still going strong. Neither of them is paying her any mind, as she zips up her suit, still dripping with come. Fawkes doesn't even seem to notice when she unchains his legs, though the real one spasms a couple of times once freed. She retreats a few steps back, to where there's a simple chair and table, and watches the whole display, rocking against a corner of the chairback, humping it in time with Rutledge's thrusts, until she's done, and so is he.

 

It's a disgusting mess, all of it, but she feels no disgust. She feels absolutely nothing, the moment her own pleasure has climaxed and ceased.

 

"Talon will be expecting you." She says, her tone betraying nothing, as the two of them look to her in surprise, a sweaty, sticky, filthy mess. As if she is not at all a mess herself. "Try not to disappoint. Who knows? Perhaps we will meet again, in... nicer quarters."

 

She doesn't wait for a response, before grappling to the balcony across the way, and then the roof. She disappears over the other side of the mostly-abandoned motel. In a somewhat nicer one, she breaks into an empty room and showers, before calling in a pickup. She has no real intention of joining them again like this... if ordered, she might. At least now she knows it would not be so bad... it would be a way of passing the time. If he could behave, after all, so could she.


End file.
